As the Seasons Change
by TheShippyQueen
Summary: Ever wondered how Anna dealt with her declaration of love to Mr Bates? Well this is my attempt to fill in the gaps between Ep5 and Ep6.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: So, quite a bit of time passes between Ep5 and Ep6 and yet when we pick up with Anna and Bates in Ep6, it seems nothing has really changed, her declaration of love is not discussed and life seems to be moving on as it ever did. But they must have talked about it? Anna must have felt some humiliation or at least embarrassment about her declaration of love and the fact he seemingly didn't return her affections. So here, is my attempt to fill in those months!_

As the seasons change

August 1913

"_Because… I love you, Mr Bates…."_

Oh, how those words haunt me! Over and over they go in my mind as I stand by his side at the flower show. Usually, I enjoy the annual event; the smell of the flowers; the bright colours; the excitement; it's always something to look forward to. But right now, I hate every single minute of it.

To stand so close to him and yet be still so far away is a torture and one I can see no end to. I have no idea what is happening at the show, I don't hear the names of the winners, and although I applaud in all the right places, it's a mere façade, an outward demonstration of normality when inside I am riding an emotional tempest.

I don't regret my confession. You should never hide yourself from the world, always be open with how you feel, no matter how hard that may be; well, that's what my mum always says. But I rather wish I'd been more prudent, waited until I was certain that he felt the same way instead of ploughing headlong into a humiliating declaration of love.

"_You are a lady to me…."_

His gentle rejection floods through my mind and I shift awkwardly at his side, I'm sure I must be blushing with the shame. I feel his eyes upon me and before I can stop myself I quickly glance at him, meeting his eyes. What's that look? Guilt? Shame? Embarrassment? Pity, even?

Oh, Lord, where do we go from here?

It's a thought that plagues me for the rest of the day. I've unlocked a door now and no matter how hard I try, nothing will lock it again. I can't take back my words, I can't laugh and tell him I was joking, no, it's out there, just lingering between us and I have no idea how to make it right again.

I almost believe it would have been easier and kinder if he had flatly told me he didn't feel the same way. If he'd been forthright and open with me, told me in plain and simple terms that there was no hope for us; well, I could have accepted that. I would have crawled away, nursed my bruised ego and bandaged the cracks to my poor heart. I would have survived.

But this, this is torture! He gave me neither hope nor despair; he merely spoke in a riddle my simple mind could not understand. He spoke of a wife, of not being free, but what did that really mean? Did he mean he felt the same way? Did he mean there was hope? If he did feel the same, surely he would have said something. Of course he would have said something. I want to ask him but I'm afraid of the answer he might give.

So instead I carry on.

The next day, I try to keep bright and cheerful. Wherever possible I avoid him and I'm sure he avoids me. At breakfast we sit in our usual spots, side by side, yet we speak not a word to each other. His silence tells me what my head already knows, there is no hope. I try to be resolute, convince myself that I don't care, but, oh Lord how I care! As breakfast rolls on, I wish I could turn the clock back and keep my mouth closed, I long for the carefree way we would talk to each other, I want my friend back.

I've spoilt it all. How he must think me a fool!

The second my bowl of porridge is clear, I leap to my feet and tidy away my bowl; head down, I scurry from the room. I sense his eyes upon my departing form and feel my cheeks begin to burn with renewed shame. For a brief, pathetic moment, I lose myself to a fantasy. I imagine him calling out to me, following me from the room and sweeping me into his arms for an embrace that sends my legs to water. The fantasy turns to shame and ducking my head, I scamper up the stairs towards the solace of my work.

Folding sheets is a rather soothing task and I confess on this day, I indulge myself in folding slowly. The silence of the room calms my rather frenetic thoughts and slowly a bit of the old, more logical me begins to resurface.

So I declared my love for him. Is that really so bad? So he didn't actually declare how he felt for me. Is that really so bad? Perhaps he does love me; perhaps I just caught him by surprise yesterday? Maybe, now he's had time to think, maybe now he is ready to declare himself to me? Did he not bring me a dinner tray complete with flowers when I was unwell? Did he not hint at loving me in Lady Edith's room? And of all the staff, he spends the most time with me, gives only me that special smile of his and happily whispers and conspires with only me… surely… that _must _mean _something_?

Buoyed by these thoughts, I conclude, with the last fold of the sheet, that I must merely have surprised him and that he needs a little time to sort himself out. He admitted he'd been married, perhaps his wife had died tragically and it was painful for him to talk about? Yes, there was still hope.

Feeling brave and determined to reclaim back my friend and hopefully claim a lover in the process, I decide to take the long way back downstairs. I pray that I will meet him, accidentally on purpose, as I pass his Lordship's dressing room, and as I approach that part of the corridor my heart rate quickens. My stomach knots with apprehension and the thought of seeing him makes my skin become clammy. It's ridiculous really but this is how he makes me feel, I would do anything to see him, hear him, be near him. I'm so madly in love with him and I can't do anything about it.

I'm so lost in my desire to see him that I don't see him in the corridor until it's almost too late. His solid presence is before me and from the look on his face I've taken him by surprise for the second time in as many days. I come to an abrupt halt and gasp with the shock, feeling the blush spread across my cheeks. His expression turns from surprise to slight amusement and my blush deepens.

"Sorry." The word leaves my mouth and hangs in the air between us. I'm apologising for more than just my carelessness on the corridor and he seems to sense that too.

A terrible silence descends and I open my mouth to say something, but words fail me and so I stand there, like a fool. He shifts awkwardly, leaning heavily on his cane and I can tell he is embarrassed too.

"Sorry," I say again and thankfully, I find the art of walking returning to me. I awkwardly sidestep him as he makes no attempt to move aside. I duck my head as I pass, my eyes flitting between his and the floor.

I walk away, trying hard to keep my nerve when I hear him call after me, again, the fantasy replays once more in my mind.

"Anna."

I turn, hope rising up through my stomach. Maybe this will be the moment?

"Yes?"

He opens his mouth to say something but then his expression darkens and I'm sure I see him blush.

"Do you want a hand with anything?"

My stomach falls away and my chest heaves with disappointment. "No, no thank you, Mr Bates." I reply and sadly turn away.

Maybe things will never be the same again.

The days pass by in an awkward blur. We barely speak to each other, though we're always civil when we do. I still sit by his side in the servant's hall but our conversation is limited to requests for the salt or the milk. The easiness we used to have is gone and yet still I am left in limbo, unsure of truly where I stand with him.

I expect him to come to me, to explain things further, but he doesn't. I linger in corridors, rooms and in the yard, hoping he will come and explain to me or at least give me the chance to explain to him, to make things right again. But he doesn't come.

Only a fool would still keep hope. But I am a fool indeed.

I think I must be truly lost to love for how he makes me feel. In the confusion of the last few days I still yearn to be near him, for him to smile at me, I long for that feeling he gives me and will do anything to receive it. I feel like a child begging for praise from an adult, I want to dance, sing, cartwheel across the floor, all to earn his gaze and smile. It's ridiculous, isn't it? I'm a grown woman, for heaven's sake.

Each day I wake and hope that the day will bring a change in our relationship, that there will be some closure to the awkwardness that plagues us. Each day, I sit at breakfast and offer him a smile as we eat and though my heart lifts when he returns my smile it never goes any further than a few polite words. I wonder what he's thinking, he's probably afraid that if he offers me too much in way of friendliness I'll throw myself at him and make more desperate declarations to him. He's probably afraid I'll press him to tell me how he really feels.

He's probably right.

I go about my work as diligently as ever. Nobody could ever chastise me for my work. I begin to take comfort in dressing the girls. I spend a little longer with each one as I help them dress for the day and for the evening. I listen to Lady Mary as she talks of many things, usually about herself, and answer politely when she enquires after me.

With Lady Edith I indulge her by listening to her talks of Sir Anthony and her bitter comments regarding Lady Mary. In Lady Sybil's room, I listen to her talk about her new passion of politics and socialism and though it holds no real interest with me it's a welcome relief to thoughts of Mr Bates. I would listen to anything if it helped me to forget my unrequited love.

I find myself listening out for him as I work, a daily ritual of listening and waiting, it's a torture I cannot seem to put an end to.

One morning, I hear him approaching along the corridor as I finish cleaning in Lady Edith's room. I stop working, frozen, wondering if he's going to come into the room. My heart rate quickens and I hold my breath as I hear the familiar tap of his cane. Part of me wants him to come inside and talk to me but the other part is afraid. His step falters outside the door and my heart pounds painfully. I straighten up, expecting to see him appear but then his steps continue and I hear him disappear down the corridor.

I exhale with both relief and disappointment. My heart sinks and I am left crestfallen, I really have lost my friend and any childish dreams of a relationship with him are all but over. I continue with my work and wonder how I can make this right again, it's been weeks now and still I have no answer to this question. Perhaps I need to be brave and push away my desire for him and content myself with his friendship. Loving him from afar and having his friendship must surely be better than this torment?

By the end of the month I can take no more and so I make a mental pact with myself to speak with him and try to win him back. Purely as a friend mind you, I think I'm resigned that he'll never be anything more. It's been weeks since that fateful day and if he really felt anything remotely romantic for me he would have spoken to me about it, wouldn't he?

I seize my opportunity one afternoon on the last day of August. He sits alone in the servant's hall, book in front of him and as I approach, my heart leaps with unrequited love and I yearn for just some of my fantasies to at least come true. I yearn for him to love me as I love him.

Pushing these unhelpful thoughts away, I step into the hall with a smile and take satisfaction in his surprised look as I greet him with a lot more confidence – and cheek – than I actually intended.

"Hello stranger."

"I could say the same thing to you," he scolds lightly. His eyes crinkle at the corners and my heart flutters a little. He places his book onto the table and folds his arms waiting for me to speak or do something.

I drop my eyes and move silently into position next to him. Now I'm here, and the first words are spoken, my confidence begins to scatter. I look at my hands and a silence descends though less awkward than it has been previously. I suddenly feel him nudge me lightly with his shoulder.

"I've missed you."

The fluttering in my heart intensifies and my stomach lurches, my eyes lift and I see that he is smiling at me.

"I've missed you too," I reply, mirroring his smile.

Again silence descends, there's so many things hanging in the air between us, so many things I want to say, and yet I daren't. I'm just on the brink of gaining his friendship once more; I don't want to spoil it with a loose tongue.

"Mr Bates…" I begin, my voice sounds small and unsure and my breathing has quickened. It's a response I'm not proud of but I can't help it. "I…"

His hand lands on mine, stopping me before I can say anything else. "I know," he says simply and slowly removes his hand.

I shake my head slowly, he doesn't know, he can't know! If he did, he wouldn't torture me this way, he would end my pain once and for all.

"I don't think you do," I say, almost inaudible.

His hand is back on mine again and this time he squeezes it gently, the sensation sends my heart into palpitations, "I know what you want… need to hear from me. But, I can't"

His hand squeezes one more time and then he removes it again, arms folded, he leans back against his chair and gives me a look of sadness. My eyes drop to the table and the silence descends once more. It suddenly dawns on me that I'm still no clearer, does he love me or not? In that instant, I'm furious with him, how dare he sit there and tell me he knows what I want to hear and yet not tell it me?

"Because you don't love me?" I even shock myself at my boldness, his look is priceless.

"That's not what I said," he answers, a grimace flickering across his face.

"No, it's not," I agree bitterly.

He sighs softly and unfolding his arms, rests his hands on the table. I lift my head and try to meet his eyes but he deliberately avoids me, choosing the table over me.

"Anna," his voice is strained, "There's so many things I want to say, but it wouldn't be right. Not yet, anyway."

My breathing quickens again and the pounding of my heart thunders in my ears, almost drowning him out. I try to think of something to say, something clever and grown up but my mind is whirling and my heart in control.

"But I love you," I cry. I'm instantly furious with myself, I sound like a petty child but my heart is still in command and my mouth a willing servant. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

He meets my eyes now and I see the strain, strain that I'm causing. I'd like to say I feel remorseful, but confess I don't. "Anna, you don't know what that means to me." He gasps the words, it's the most emotion I've ever heard from him and it lifts me a little.

"No, I don't," I agree again. "Tell me."

He groans softly in resignation, "I don't deserve your love, Anna. God knows you're a better person than I could ever be. To know, you love me… well..." He shakes his head in disbelief, "I'm not deserving of it. I wish you didn't love me, it would make things so much easier."

"But, I do love you."

He smiles softly, his eyes crinkling once more but there's nothing teasing about this smile. "Yes, you do."

Throwing caution completely to the wind, I let my mouth go, "Do you love me?"

He chuckles at this, "Only you would be so brave."

"That's not answering my question," I scold, matching his smile.

"No, it's not," he agrees.

"So?"

"I can't."

"Can't tell me, or can't love me? Mr Bates, you're goin' to have to help me out here!"

He smiles, "Both, I want to... but, I can't."

I nod silently; it seems my question has been answered. He can't love me and won't love me. It's as simple as that… for him at least. For me, well I'll have to content myself with loving him from afar, being his friend is far more agreeable than not having his friendship at all – even if I'll always want more.

I rise silently from the table and slowly make my way out of the room. I console myself on this lonely walk that at least we've cleared some of the air that's surrounded us, in time we could be back to where we were and with any luck he'll forget all about my being in love with him; we can be as we were – friends.

"Not yet anyway."

His voice calls after me, stopping me in my tracks. I turn and gaze at him in bewilderment. He's leaning back in his chair, arms folded, eyes smiling. I smile back at him and in that shared gaze, my hope rises once more. He just needs time and I can give him that. I have all the time in the world for him. For once my head takes control of my mouth and I prudently smile at him warmly and turn on my heels and keep walking, knowing his gaze is on me until I disappear from view.

Maybe we'll be fine after all.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you for the reviews! I hope this doesn't disappoint! :)_

October 1913

It's been almost two months since the flower show and though many things have changed, some things have remained the same. Although the awkwardness between myself and Mr Bates has gone, there is still something missing, something not quite right, and I'm sure it's all to do with me and my forward mouth.

We talk amiably together, laugh and joke with the other servants and sit side by side at breakfast and dinner. Occasionally we tease each other during our work and I flatter myself that he flirts with me, though I'm sure I merely imagine it.

I suppose after that day back in August, I expected things to change quickly, that he would be mine within days, but it seems I was completely mistaken and I begin to doubt that he said anything at all. I start to wonder if I misheard him, if I misinterpreted his gaze and for a moment I am beaten, destroyed completely by my love that will never be returned.

And then he smiles at me.

It may be a casual smile at dinner, or a polite one first thing in the morning. Sometimes it's a smile as we pass on the corridor or meet in a room. Occasionally, it's a smile as I enter a room, and it's this smile that always floors me. It's this smile that rebuilds the foundations all my hope is built on; surely a man would not smile at me in that way if there was nothing good to come of it?

Or maybe I'm just fooling myself?

Two long months I wait, expecting each day to be the day when he comes to me and says, "Now I'm ready to tell you." But that day never comes. I try to stop myself gazing at him like a lovesick fool but it's hard, so very hard.

When he speaks, I listen; he may be talking of the most mundane thing like the changing weather, yet to me it's the most interesting thing I've ever heard.

I'm certain I'm a fool.

So, as October rolls on, I busy myself as much as I can. I try to forget that my hope is slowly depleting with each passing day and I try (probably too hard) to act as if I too have moved on, that I'm not waiting around for his love. It's a dangerous game, with rules I'm not completely clear about, but I have to do something, I can't wait forever.

I suppose you'd say I become cool and distant towards him. It's petty, I know, but I take satisfaction in his hurt expression when I choose to sit with Gwen rather than him during our breaks. I keep conversation limited around him and only speak to him when necessary. Although I'm civil, there's a real sense of incivility in my treatment of him, yet he dare not reproach me.

I expect him to try and win back my favour, in fact, I wait for it, (child that I am). When it doesn't happen, I could almost cry, but I don't, I'm far too proud for that. My single-player game, (for he is not a player), continues and results in no satisfaction on my behalf, instead, I feel lonely and sad without him as a friend. He must think me truly ridiculous, one minute I blow hot and the next I blow cold. There's no consistency to me, no wonder he keeps his distance.

Whenever I am alone, I think only of my misfortunes, I replay every conversation, every look and (I'm ashamed to admit it) every second his hand was on mine. It is during one of these moments, he happens upon me in Lady Sybil's room.

"Anna."

I jump at the sudden sound of Mr Bates' voice and spin round, clutching my chest at the fright. His gaze is immediately apologetic, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Yer gave me a right fright!" I scold with little conviction.

"Sorry."

I take a few breaths, though the shock has passed, I'm now left with the worrying prospect of what the next few minutes will bring.

"I just wondered if you needed a hand."

"Why?" I ask, a smile playing about my lips, any thoughts of being cool have all but gone now, "haven't you got any work of yer own to be doin'?"

He returns my smile, dropping his head slightly, "I suppose I have," he admits, "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

My heart pounds at his words and my stomach drops lightly. Why would he want to know if I was alright? Had I made it that obvious that my feelings for him were still so strong? I try to keep my tone nonchalant as I ask.

"Alright? Why wouldn't I be alright?"

Maybe because I've been almost ignoring him? Maybe because I avoid him as much as I can? Maybe I can hardly meet his eyes, even now as we speak? Is that not reason enough to ask?

"I don't know." He says; I can almost hear the exasperation in his voice. "You haven't been your usual self. I just wondered if everything was alright."

"I'm fine, just been bus-" My words die in my throat as he raises an eyebrow. I feel my cheeks flush and I give a rather embarrassed smile. "Alright… I've not exactly been myself."

He chuckles softly. "So you admit it, then?" He takes a step closer to me and my heart hammers in response, "I'd say you've been avoiding me."

I drop my eyes to the floor, cheeks burning. I can feel the blush spreading down my neck and I start to tremble, a cold sweat spreading throughout my body. I merely nod my head in response.

"Is it something I've said?" He asks me softly.

I lift my eyes, _'it's what you've not said,' _I think and from the look he gives me, he understands immediately.

He looks behind him, checking that nobody is around and steps further into the room. "Anna…I can't."

I nod again, "I know," I say simply. What else can I say?

"You're cross with me."

I look up, a little surprised by his statement. Does he really think that I am angry with him? Well… I suppose in a way I am, but more angry at the situation and myself rather than the man.

"I'm not cross with you."

He raises an eyebrow and shifts heavily on his cane once more. I've noticed he seems slower these days, as though the changing weather is affecting his leg, making it stiff.

"You should be."

"But, I'm not." I insist, sighing, I tilt my head from side to side, easing the pressure in my neck. I realise I have been straining every muscle in my body these last few minutes and as I move, I feel their cry for mercy. "I'm cross with myself, really. It's not your fault I feel this way –"

"If I could say something to make it easier, I would." He steps closer again, his eyes meet mine and I see how genuinely sincere he is being.

"But you can't," I say, speaking the words he obviously would rather not.

There's a moment's silence and I look away, inhaling deeply. He shifts again, the sound of our breathing the only thing filling the room – that and all the things we can't and won't say to each other.

"I could be unkind to you? Would that help? I could… pick fault with your work, report you to Mrs Hughes and then laugh when you get into trouble. Would that help? Then you could be cross with me and it would be truly deserved!" His tone is light and teasing and I can't help but smile lightly back at him.

"No, don't be daft!"

"I'm not being daft!" He says, almost indignantly, "Or, maybe I should be daft? Perhaps if I talk nonsense and act like a simpleton, maybe then you might find me less than agreeable. Would that help?"

I can't help but chuckle at him, I know he's trying to lighten things between us, make it better somehow. My laughter makes him smile in return.

"There it is," he says, eyes sparkling in the way I love.

"What?" I ask, bemused by such a comment.

"That Anna smile," he replies with warmth. "I've missed that."

I feel myself blush again, though this time it's with pleasure rather than embarrassment.

"Oh, be off wi' yer –"

"Mr Bates? Is there a problem here?" Mr Carson's voice rumbles into the room, startling us both. I leap back from Bates as if I've been shot and stand, rather shamefaced. Though why is beyond me, it's not as though anything was going on – more's the pity.

"Not at all Mr Carson," Mr Bates answers, standing tall and straight, "I was just asking if Anna needed any help."

"Have you finished in here, Anna?" Mr Carson directs his gaze onto me and my work, I swallow hard.

"Almost."

Carson raises a large eyebrow and frowns lightly, "Well hurry up, you should have been finished ages ago."

"It was my fault, Mr Carson, I've kept Anna talking," Mr Bates explains.

Carson merely rumbles a response and leaves the room. Mr Bates turns to follow him but not before flashing me a smile, pausing, he checks that Carson is out of ear-shot before whispering to me, "He's not such a Cheerful Charlie today, is he?"

My hand flies to my mouth to stop the laugh exploding from my mouth. Before I can reproach him, he's gone and I'm left with my work and thoughts.

A few nights later and I'm making my way towards the servant's hall. It's been another long day and I'm tired and rather irritable. Peering into the hall, I see it is empty apart from Miss O'Brien, the thought of spending any time in her company is almost more than I can stand and so I seek for another diversion.

The back door is slightly ajar and the idea of some fresh autumn air seems like a good idea. With a sigh, I step outside and take a few deep breaths. The air is cool, the weather has really started to change in the last few weeks, winter is definitely on its way.

From my position by the back door, I hear a soft noise, coming from further out in the yard. It's the sound of feet shuffling on gravel and intrigued, I step out, peering into the darkness. Sat, just behind some crates, is Mr Bates, a distant look on his face.

"What'yer doin' out 'ere?" I announce my arrival and see the look of surprise on his face.

"Just taking in the air," he answers as I join him, sitting cautiously by his side, "What are you doing out here?"

I cast a sideways glance, "I didn't fancy makin' small talk with Miss O'Brien."

He gives a nod in agreement and folds his arms. I wonder how often he's been coming here at night, I have noticed that he's often absent around the servants' table, especially later at night. No doubt to avoid O'Brien's sharp tongue and Thomas' evil glares.

"You prefer it out 'ere rather than in there?" I ask, turning slightly on the crate to face him.

"I'm not sure how much more of Thomas I can take," he admits and I can only give him a knowing smile. Thomas has continued to be his usual delightful self where Mr Bates is concerned and Miss O'Brien, is just as bad.

"Well, you know my thoughts on that one." I say, feeling the anger towards them rise at the memories of how they've treated Mr Bates in the past. "I still think you should have punished one of them over that snuffbox."

"I don't want to cause trouble," he answers and I smile, he really is such a good man!

"Well, I wouldn't stand for it," I say firmly. "And next time Miss O'Brien so much as breathes a bad word about you, she'll get a piece of my mind!"

Mr Bates seems amused by my little outburst, "I don't doubt that for a minute."

"Spiteful cat."

"I'm sure even Miss O'Brien has her good points," Mr Bates says and I look at him in disbelief. Though I doubt that to be the case, I choose not to continue the conversation, however it seems that Mr Bates has not quite done. "Thomas, however, now there's a different matter."

"Oh?"

"He's up to his old tricks again." When I raise an eyebrow, he continues, "A while ago I caught him coming out of the cellar, bottle of wine in his hand. I think he was stealing it."

"Have you told anyone? Mr Carson?"

He shakes his head, "I have no real proof, but he looked shifty and that wine was certainly not for dinner."

"Then you need to say something."

He shakes his head, "No, I'm not accusing anyone, especially not Thomas. If he is stealing, then Mr Carson will discover it but I won't be the one to tell him."

I smile, my admiration for him growing. "You're a good man."

He shakes his head, something like a smile on his lips, "No, I'm anything but."

I frown, "Well, I think you are."

He rises to his feet, still smiling somewhat wistfully at me, "Then you are too kind to me." He begins to walk back towards the house, leaving me to stare after him.

Just what secrets does this man keep? Why is he so negative about himself? Why won't he let me in?


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you once again for the reviews – you rock! :D_

December 1913

Winter has really arrived with a vengeance. The weather has turned and the shorter days are filled with dark mornings and long nights. Cold weather has lingered over us and there seems no end to it. Waking up in the morning is torture, the room is freezing and we all shiver and shake our way into the start of the day.

Although the weather has changed, little else has. The house continues on as it ever did and we all go about our work quietly and efficiently. Thomas and O'Brien are up their usual games, with sharp quips and unpleasant glares in Mr Bates' direction. I still don't understand their problem with him and I often come to his defence, determined to stand up for a man who doesn't deserve such nastiness.

In early December, his Lordship is called to London on business. He is away for a few weeks and takes Mr Bates with him. We say goodbye on the driveway with everyone else and though he says nothing extra to me, I notice his gaze lingers on my face just a few seconds longer than it should.

I risk a quick smile at him before he turns and walks towards the car. I wonder if he will miss me or if I am seeing imaginary signs – but I'm certain I'm not. I hope that time apart will help the situation, I hope that if he's not near me, I'll be able to start to move on and sort out my mind - 'out of sight, out of mind' my mum used to say, I hope rather than believe her to be right.

However as the days pass, my grandmother's old saying of 'absence makes the heart grow fonder,' seems a more fitting way to describe my feelings. Instead of thinking of him less, I ironically find I think of him more. Every time I enter the servants' hall, I look for him and feel that bitter pang of disappointment when I realise he won't be there. I sit at night and sometimes I read something in the paper that I think would amuse him, and have to deal with my sadness all over again when I realise he's not there to share it with.

He even starts to fill my dreams; I find I go to bed conjuring up his image and fall asleep, a smile on my lips ready to experience another night of Bates-filled dreams. I think I have to admit that during that time apart, I find that instead of my feelings diminishing they seem to grow in intensity. I realise, one Sunday, on my walk back from church, that I am still in love with him and ache to see him again. The ache in my heart deepens when it dawns on me that he is probably not missing me in London, in fact, away from the nastiness of O'Brien and Thomas, he probably prefers London to being here, to being near me.

How I wish I could put an end to my torture, if only I didn't feel this way, it would make things so much easier for me. But I can't help my feelings, I can't stop loving him. As the months go by, I still find that my feelings are just as strong as they ever were but at least I keep myself more in check around him. The words I said on the road to the flower show are still present, but not quite as strong as they have been. I can think about it without blushing now, time has allowed me to analyse what happened on that day and although I laid out my heart and he didn't respond, I have to be thankful he didn't destroy me with a painful rebuke. Surely that would have been far harder to live with? Seeing him every day and hearing his voice, surely that would remind me constantly of his rebuff and my embarrassment. No, I must be thankful that didn't happen!

His Lordship returns in the week before Christmas Day and of course Mr Bates returns with him. The weather is too vile for us to stand on the drive to greet them and instead we wait inside the hallway, ever the image of propriety.

I find myself rather nervous, yet excited at the same time, and I can't stop myself from looking for him as Mr Carson opens the door to welcome his Lordship. My heart pounds and I feel that familiar lurch of my stomach as I catch sight of him. I have to try and stop myself from beaming with happiness, it feels so good to see him once more, it feels right that he should be back here, where he belongs… with me.

I notice that he looks tired from the journey and seems to be struggling more with his leg. However, he hides it well, deals with his Lordship's coat and helps Mr Carson and William sort out the luggage. Once we are allowed to take our leave and return to our duties, I make a point of passing him, offering him a welcoming smile and I'm treated to a warm smile in return.

"It's nice to see you again, Anna."

My smile widens and I drop my eyes from his. I can feel a faint blush of surprised pleasure growing on my cheeks and I wonder how to reply. Thankfully, I am saved from saying anything by Mrs Hughes who sends me on my way. I smile at him again and quickly hurry on, proud that I have got through the reunion without making a fool of myself. I congratulate myself at how I acted and begin to wonder if I am perhaps past the worst. Even though I love him still, I can at least be around him without falling apart.

The return of his Lordship means that the Christmas festivities can begin and every night, the family entertain different friends and neighbours. Everyone is in high spirits, both upstairs and downstairs, and it seems everyone is determined to enjoy Christmas this year. The weather turns colder in the days before Christmas and we have rather frosty mornings, but sharp frosts only add to the Christmas feel.

On Christmas Eve, after the family have dined and are settled for the night, Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes allow us a drink of mulled ale and Mrs Patmore hands out some biscuits she has made. William strikes up some songs on the piano and it isn't long before some of the staff get up and start dancing.

Mr Branson, in rather a chipper mood, drags me up from my seat and twirls me wildly around the room until I'm laughing and out of breath. All the time, I sense Mr Bates' eyes on me, occasionally catching his eye as I'm twirled past him. He's smiling, laughing almost, and clearly enjoying the sight before him. I wonder if it's me he's enjoying or simply the atmosphere. I don't think I've ever danced so hard, but Mr Branson is relentless, his energy, seemingly limitless and William plays faster and faster until eventually we both collapse back into our seats, laughing heartily.

Thomas, not wanting to be outdone, is on his feet and grabbing Daisy pulls her into a rather rapid dance whilst William plays on, occasionally casting a mournful and jealous gaze in their direction. Mr Branson holds out his hand to me again but I'm still recovering and laughingly refuse, Mr Branson is still keen for more dancing and so aims his next efforts on Gwen. She's on her feet before he even asks and they join Thomas and Daisy. It's not long before some of the others join them and those of us still sitting, clap and laugh along merrily.

"That looked like fun."

His voice is low and close and I turn in my seat to see him stood behind me. I merely gaze up at him, there's something in his look that holds my tongue, a look I would almost call desirous. I stare at him for a moment, my cheeks still flushed from the dancing and I manage a little smile, his gaze is so intense, I can't help but drop my eyes.

"Yes, yes it was rather fun," I finally manage, "Though, Mr Branson is perhaps a little too exuberant for my tastes! My feet are burnin'!"

He chuckles softly at this, "He certainly seems to have endless energy."

I cast him another glance, his eyes are still dark and he's studying me carefully. This intense scrutiny is certainly not helping my bright red cheeks or the rate of my breathing, but if he senses my discomfort he does nothing to relieve it. I would almost say he's doing it on purpose. I turn my attention back to the dancing, laughing as Daisy squeals with delight. I can still sense him standing behind me and I'm sure he must be still gazing down at me. I lift my head again and fix him with a reproachful look.

"Are you going to sit down, Mr Bates? You'll be much comfier watching from here."

His smile is rather cheeky and I wonder if he's had too much ale, though I confess I haven't seen him with anything in his hand the whole evening.

"Oh, the view's quite good from here, thank you."

Surely he doesn't mean me? No, he must mean the dancing; of course he means the dancing. I look away, pretending to watch Thomas and Daisy though I am paying little attention. With him standing so close and his words still fresh in my ears; my ability to pay attention to anything has completely vanished. I'm suddenly surprised when I feel a light touch to my shoulder, looking up, I'm taken aback by how close to me he is, his mouth, a mere breath away from my ear.

"Have you got a minute?"

He straightens up, face impassive, and turns, slowly walking out of the room. My heart is almost near breaking point it's hammering so hard and my stomach somersaults violently. Why does he want me to follow him? What game is he playing tonight? There's no doubt, I have to find out.

Glancing about the room to make sure nobody is watching, I rise slowly from my seat. My poor legs protest at such action and it takes me a moment to steady myself. Is it the dancing or the fact I'm about to be alone with Mr Bates? I can't tell.

I slip unnoticed from the room, I don't realise how hot I am until I step into the coolness of the corridor. My recent exertions have left me in a rather inelegant state, my face is still flushed, my uniform is stuck uncomfortably to my body and my hair feels to have dislodged itself thanks to the vigorous twirling Mr Branson made me endure.

Mr Bates is standing further down the corridor, half in darkness and I'm almost ashamed to show myself in such a state but I suppose he's seen me in the same state just moments ago and really, why am I so bothered? And more importantly, why does he want to talk to me alone?

Each step I take, I wonder if this is it, if this is when he tells me how he really feels and I feel my footsteps quicken. I come to a halt a few steps in front of him, a soft smile on my lips. Is this when my fantasies will come true?

"How are the feet?"

Maybe not.

"Sore."

He smiles that lopsided grin of his but says nothing else. I stand awkwardly in front of him, shifting from foot to foot to try and ease the burning in my feet. I really should seriously think about giving dancing a miss in future, certainly with Mr Branson anyway. He still hasn't said anything and I'm feeling impatient. I raise an eyebrow at him and he ducks his head, almost embarrassed. He opens his jacket and removes a small package wrapped in brown paper. He looks at it carefully, almost studying whether this is wise or not and then, with a smile, holds it out to me.

"What's this?" I ask perplexed. I cautiously take the package from him and look up, a small frown crossing my features.

My reaction clearly amuses him, though there's still something unsure in his countenance.

"Well, open it and find out," he says, his tone filled with amusement.

Still I am unsure; I turn the package over in my hands, feeling the weight and shape of it. Has he bought me a present? Or am I seeing things that aren't really there? Am I being incredibly simple?

"Is it for me?" I ask.

"That's why I'm giving it to you," he replies, his eyes sparkling now, my reaction is amusing him greatly.

There seems little else to do but to open it. I can't help but smile with childlike excitement as I tear away the brown paper and gasp in astonishment when I reveal _'Alice in Wonderland' _bound in beautiful brown leather.

"I saw this and thought of you," he says softly as I admire the cover, turning it over in my hands. "Alice reminds me a little bit of you."

_Alice in Wonderland_ had been my favourite book as a child; my father would read it to me before bedtime and I never tired of the story. Over the years, I read that book over and over again, losing myself in Alice's world and the beautiful illustrations. When I moved to Downton, my copy of the book went missing and I never replaced it. A few months ago, I'd told Mr Bates about my love of the story and my sadness at losing my copy, I was touched he remembered and even more touched that he thought to rectify it.

"I-"

"Shush now," he stops me. "Merry Christmas, Anna."

I look up, completely amazed. I'm suddenly overcome with emotion and I'm lost for words. Of all the things I'd expected this day to bring, I'd never dreamt that I would receive a gift from him – certainly not one as beautiful and precious as this. I can't help but wonder what it all means. Why buy me a gift?

"I haven't got you anythin'," I realise with guilt.

He gives that soft chuckle again, the one that makes my stomach tremble with anticipation. "Sometimes giving a present to someone you care about is present enough."

My breath catches in my throat, '_someone you care about'_, what does he mean by that? Is that the hint I've been looking for? Surely, this must mean something? I open my mouth to say something; I glance up and down the corridor, trying hard to formulate the words I want to say.

I really must be making progress for the next words I say are a simple, "Thank you, it's very kind of you to buy me this."

"Well, you deserve it; I know it's your favourite story. Call it a thank you for everything you've done for me," he replies, then drops his eyes. "You're too kind to me."

"I don't think so," I say. A silence descends again and I decide it's time to go, before I spoil everything by saying something daft. Offering him another little smile, I take a step away, "I'd better go back." I hold the precious book close to my chest and add, "Thank you again, I'll treasure it forever."

He merely smiles in response, seemingly taking pleasure in my happiness as I turn and walk away. With his gaze firmly on my back, I can't stop the tumult of thoughts that run through my mind. On the one hand, I'm proud of how I handled that situation, I didn't gush like a silly girl, I was mature and sensible – I was his friend. But then, what if he'd been using the gift to sense my feelings towards him? Maybe, he wanted me to gush and declare my love for him? What if I've just ruined it?

To be sure, I cast a glance over my shoulder and I know my look is flirty. I meet his gaze and we share a smile, a smile filled with unspoken words and sentiments. Content that I'm not imagining things, I look away and re-enter the servants' hall, book clasped close and a dreamy expression on my face.

Perhaps I spend the rest of the evening with a grin on my face worthy of the Cheshire Cat, I couldn't tell you, but I do know I think only of him and the future. A future, I now think seems brighter.

Something tells me 1914 will be a really important year.


	4. Chapter 4

**March 1914**

The battle between winter and spring is in full force, there are days when the weather is cold and wet and then other days when there is a small amount of warmth to the watery sun and the days seem brighter. However, the weather is still changeable with wild, blustery winds one minute and calm sunny days the next.

My father always used to say, 'March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb,' to which my mother would heartily agree with a 'ne'er cast a clout till May's out!' As we walk home from church one Sunday in early March, I find these phrases rather fitting and pull my coat firmly around me against the chilly wind.

I rather enjoy these Sunday walks back from church, I usually walk with Gwen and Mr Bates, and we talk of simple things such as the weather or gossip we may have heard from the village. Since Christmas, there have been no further developments between myself and Mr Bates. We still sit together and talk, are often to be found in each other's company and actively seek out the other when we have free time. But nothing more.

Things seem to be much more like how they were before that day on the road to the flower show, even since he gave me that book at Christmas; the only development between us is how comfortable we are together. He speaks no promises, mentions no declarations, it's as we always were – friends.

However, there are times when I catch him watching me with an expression that seems almost melancholy or wistful. Occasionally, I look up from my work to see him smiling softly in my direction, lost in thought, and when he sees me notice him, he'll look away, embarrassed.

There have been times when he's passed me in the corridor, said something low so that only I can hear him, his mouth close to my ear, his body lightly brushing against mine as we pass. Times when he's found me, conveniently alone, in a room and has stopped to help, making soft jokes that have me giggling. Sometimes at night, as we sit together after dinner, he'll show me the paper, invite me to offer my opinion on the latest news and listen carefully as I speak, eyes on me the whole time.

I may not be experienced in love, in fact, my experiences of love are mainly based on stories I've read and the people I know. But, it doesn't need experience to work out that he's interested in me.

So, why doesn't he say so?

I start to understand that perhaps, time is exactly all he needs. That he works at a slower rate in life than I do. Maybe, he needs time to realise that the one he wants is right here and still waiting. Waiting for him to want her. And I think he does want me.

I'm happy to wait, I realise, happy to spend my days with him and though I don't ever mention my feelings for him, I quietly keep them known to him. Occasionally I'll flash him a coy smile at the dinner table. When he speaks to me, I reply with a tone that some may call flirty. I don't do it all the time, just occasionally, when it seems appropriate. When chance arises, I'll tease him lightly, my eyes sparkling at his reaction and though I don't make this a regular thing, I seek out as many opportunities as I can, enjoying the crease of his eyes as he teases me in return.

I keep it light, but I know it's clear. I'm still interested.

On this particular Sunday, as we walk back from Church, I'm struck by how much time has passed since my feelings for him began. I recall, with some surprise, that it's almost a year since he brought the dinner tray to me when I was unwell. However, I'm sure I loved him before that; I think that event just confirmed it to me. Therefore, it must be well over a year now that I have been in love with him, a whole year of yearning and I'm still no further forward. I have to wonder, just how much longer will I wait? How long before my attachment disintegrates and I step away from him and this waiting?

"You're awfully quiet."

His voice cuts through my reverie and I look up a little startled. I realise I haven't spoken since we left the church, too lost in my own thoughts. Gwen had been walking with us but glancing about, I see she's melted away to join Daisy and William.

"I don't mean to be, I was just thinking." I reply, casting him a soft smile. The thought of walking the rest of the way home together is a thrilling prospect and I turn my full attention in his direction.

"I know, I could hear you from here." He smiles back, making my stomach flutter excitedly.

I give a soft laugh, "I was just thinking how quickly time passes."

"In relation to anything particular?"

I give a little sigh, should I tell him about my thoughts on how time has passed and yet I'm still no clearer on where I stand than I was this time last year? Should I hint at where my thoughts had been lingering? Should I make it clear to him, my feelings are unchanged?

"I was just thinking," I begin rather tentatively, "how the seasons change and time passes, yet many things stay the same, many things remain as they always were."

It's a rather guarded explanation, filled with the riddles he likes to use, I wonder if my hint is large enough to prompt a reaction.

"And that's a bad thing?" he questions, not meeting my gaze. "In such a constantly changing world, consistency can be a rare thing. Sometimes, it can be a comfort if some things stay the same, don't you think?"

He certainly seems to have taken the bait and is playing our favourite game of 'understand the riddle.' I try to decipher his code, wondering if, like me, he's referring to our constant and unchanging relationship.

"It's not a bad thing, no," I answer, turning my gaze back to the road. "But eventually everything has to change, no matter how much we may want it to remain a constant, change has to happen. Especially if we are to progress."

"Very true," he agrees, and we both fall silent, left alone in our heads to decipher the codes and work out our next move. Almost like a game of chess.

"But, sometimes, change can be hard to accept. No matter how much we may want to accept change, it may not be the right thing," he adds, breaking the silence.

"Until that change happens, how will you know if it's right or not?" I ask, my voice is rather shaky and I make a show of rubbing my hands together, feigning cold. In truth, I'm feeling rather hot; my shaky voice is purely thanks to this conversation and the depth of hidden meaning lurking beneath the layers of words.

"You won't know for certain," he answers, and I hear a tone of uncertainty in his voice. "You just have to make your decision based only on the facts before you."

"I always do that," I answer rather quickly and he looks at me with a smile.

"But that has its downfalls. For sometimes, what you see isn't always what you get and you may end up regretting your change."

"Or, you may find that change was exactly what you needed," I add with optimism.

He merely smiles softly at this. "Maybe," he agrees, rather wistfully. I come to a halt, taking him by surprise as I did all those months ago in August. But this time, I've no intention of making things awkward.

Instead, I offer him a coy smile. "Well, when you're ready for a change, let me know. I'm sure I could arrange something for you."

Before he has any time to respond to my blatant flirtation, I start walking again, my footfall light, and I cast a glance over my shoulder, a brazen smile on my lips and allow my twinkling eyes to meet his. The smile on his face erupts and he sets off after me, following me like a puppy and I am elated, a faerie, a siren, an all-powerful being. He will be mine.

One evening, a week or so after that Sunday, I enter the servants' hall to find Mr Bates sitting alone, arms folded and a rather dark look to his features. I know that look, something has happened to upset him, he always looks that way whenever he is hurting and usually only after a run-in with Thomas or O'Brien.

I sit quietly at his side, straightening out my apron and resisting the urge to touch his leg. "What's the matter?"

He inhales sharply. "Nothing. Just…" he pauses and looks at me, eyes betraying the real hurt he's experiencing, "Thomas and his usual pleasantries."

I give him a sympathetic smile. "Nothing new there then." I give a little sigh, "What's he said now?"

"Oh, the usual comments." Bates sighs, shifting slightly in his chair.

I'm about to question him further when Thomas' ever faithful side-kick appears. Her usual scowl deepens further as she observes us. "What are you doin' 'ere?" she demands, comment aimed purely at me. It seems we're both in for an awkward time. "'Aven't you got work to be doin'?"

"I could ask the same of you, Miss O'Brien." My retort is sharp and I sense Bates shift again, clearly uncomfortable.

"'Er Majesty's done for t'night. I'm goin' to do some sewin' down 'ere, if that's alright wi' you?"

"You can please yourself." My answer is rather impertinent, but my light tone helps to make up for it.

I glance at Mr Bates but his expression is blank. Miss O'Brien has now settled herself at the table and any hopes I may have had for a conversation with Mr Bates is well and truly over, the woman's sharp eyes are on us both, calculating, plotting.

Mr Bates shifts again and this time rises slowly from his seat. I look up at him questioningly and he offers me a quick look that tells me what I already know. He'd rather not spend any longer in Miss O'Brien's company, I understand the sentiment completely.

He doesn't make it to the door before William comes through, Thomas close on his heels. William's face is flustered and his hands are full with a tray of empty glasses.

"Anna, Lady Mary was asking for you, I think she's heading up to her room," William announces, glasses clattering unsteadily.

I rise from my seat, "Thank you, William."

William turns on his heels and straight into Thomas, the glasses clang and clatter, tumbling over on the tray. By some extraordinary luck, none of the glasses break and William manages to keep control of the tray. Although no harm is done, Thomas seizes an opportunity to bully the poor boy.

"Watch out! Yer clumsy….!"

"Leave him alone," Mr Bates instantly interjects.

"What'yer doin' carryin' all them anyway?" Miss O'Brien snaps.

"Well, seen as we don't have Mr Bates' help, what with his condition, we all have to work a bit harder. Not that we complain, do we William?" Thomas, says, his voice pure poison.

"I don't min-" William begins.

"We all need to pull our weight, it's just we do a bit more than Mr Bates." Thomas sneers, his venomous glare on Bates. Mr Bates, standing firm, returns the glare. The atmosphere is quickly changing; William's glasses tremble with his nerves.

I feel the anger rising but before I can say anything in Mr Bates' defence, the man himself speaks up.

"I see you've got nothing in your hands."

Thomas straightens his jacket but doesn't remove his eyes from Mr Bates. "I've done my work, no thanks to you. Everything in its rightful place."

"Even the wine?"

I silently cheer at Mr Bates' response, it's not often he resorts to this kind of thing but when he does, I feel myself fall just that little bit more in love with him. Thomas needs putting back in his place and I would pay good money to see Mr Bates do that.

Thomas' eyes flash with anger and a hint of nervousness at Mr Bates' intimation. As far as I know, Mr Bates has told no-one about Thomas and the wine except me, and Thomas is obviously ruffled.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Thomas demands, eyes burning and nostrils flaring.

"Only that you should be more careful where you put it," Mr Bates retorts, voice heavy with meaning.

Miss O'Brien looks from Thomas to Mr Bates, if she understands the reference, she doesn't let on. This situation could easily blow out of control but thankfully we are saved by Mr Carson.

"William, get those to the kitchens boy, before you break one!" His deep voice rumbles through the hall. William dances about, glasses clanking nervously, and muttering apologies, quickly leaves the room.

"Poor William, all this extra work he has to do, is really having an effect on him," Thomas sneers, eyes still fixed on Mr Bates, "Shaking like a dog he was."

"Thank you, Thomas," Mr Carson warns.

"Just thinking about poor William," Thomas sniffs.

I know I should have left a while ago and I can't put it off any longer, however, I can't stop myself leaving with a parting defensive shot.

"Careful Thomas," I say suddenly, walking towards the door, "you sound as though you actually care!"

"Only about himself," Mr Bates mutters, just loud enough for me to hear and I offer him a small smile as we leave the room together.

Confrontations between Thomas and Mr Bates become more and more frequent as the month passes. Whenever I can, I come to his defence, it infuriates me to see him being victimised in such a way. But wherever Thomas goes, Miss O'Brien is never far behind, and when the two of them get together to plot, it has me on edge. I can only wonder what will happen next, it won't be long before something else happens and I'm determined to be ready. I won't stand by and let them bully him, he doesn't deserve it.

One night, before the end of the month, another incident occurs. Although I'm not there, I hear of it from Gwen. It seems that Miss O'Brien and Thomas had been up to their usual tricks of making comments, attacking Mr Bates verbally, knowing he wouldn't fight back. Not unless he had to.

I'm infuriated by the whole thing, I wonder why Mr Carson doesn't do something about it, their blatant attacks are well known and yet still Mr Carson seems reluctant to reprimand them. I know how much it upsets Mr Bates, the poor man does not deserve it and I'm getting to the point where I won't stand for it any longer.

He doesn't appear at dinner that night and I quickly eat mine, determined to find him and make sure he's alright. I know exactly where he'll be and I make my way towards the yard, a bread roll wrapped in my handkerchief.

"I thought you might be hungry," I say, walking towards him. He's leaning against a crate, arms folded and cane propped up against his side. He smiles lightly at my approach and as I hold out the bread roll, his smile widens.

"This is becoming a habit, you bringing me food."

I drop my eyes and smile at the floor, "I thought you might be hungry."

He takes the bread roll lightly from my hand, fingers brushing mine and whispers a soft "Thank you."

"You shouldn't let Thomas get to you," I say softly. "It's about time he was put in his place."

Mr Bates shakes his head gently, "Not by me."

"But you can't let him treat you this way." My tone is indignant on his behalf.

"Thomas will get what's coming to him, but I won't be the one to do it." Mr Bates' tone is firm, "No matter how much I want to."

"Can't you tell Mr Carson about the wine?" I ask, still determined that Thomas should be brought down and preferably by Mr Bates.

He shakes his head firmly, "No, Mr Carson needs to find that out for himself, I won't be the one to tell him."

"You're a better person than me, Mr Bates," I say, smiling warmly. The look he gives me is anything but warm and for a moment I am slightly taken aback. His expression softens slightly and he tries a smile.

"No, I'm most certainly not," he states, his tone rather dark and sombre.

"Well I think you are," I reply, my tone slightly indignant.

He gives me a wry smile. "I know you do, and I'm grateful, your faith in me is admirable."

"Because you deserve it," I say simply. He meets my gaze, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles softly.

"I most certainly don't."

I frown slightly, "Of course you do!"

He sighs a little and looks away, shifting his weight slightly. "Anna, you don't know what I am."

"Then tell me."

He shakes his head, almost sadly, "I can't, Anna, I can't."

"You do know how I still feel about you?"

The words leave my mouth before I have chance to stop them. I silently curse myself for being so open and honest. Tonight is certainly not the night for such things; I may have just spoilt everything with my forward mouth.

If he's upset or offended, he shows no sign. Instead, gazes at me with such a wistful look that my legs tremble slightly and my breathing quickens. For a moment, I wonder if he will tell me now that he feels the same way for me. I hope so - I've been waiting long enough.

"I do," he replies, a simple smile on his lips, wistful look in his eyes. "And God knows, I don't deserve a champion like you fighting for me."

"But-"

His smile becomes almost apologetic, "But, I can't. I can't tell you all the things I want to tell you, I can't say them. It wouldn't be right."

"My feelings won't change," I say, almost with an air of defiance.

"But they will," he sighs. "One day, they will."

He hands me my handkerchief with a soft smile and taking hold of his cane, slowly begins to walk back towards the house, leaving me alone to watch his departure and ponder where my life is going. I'd been so sure at Christmas that things were moving forwards and yet it's March now and I'm still nowhere near the solution I want.

How much longer am I expected to wait? How much longer will I wait?

_A/N: And of course, we know what happens next! That infamous and oh-so-infuriating near kiss! Listen up S2 writers, we want a kiss! _

_Thank you for reading! :D_


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